


Back to Business and Other Bright Ideas

by JustSomeGirlWriting



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeGirlWriting/pseuds/JustSomeGirlWriting
Summary: After the night terror incident, Malcolm just wants to keep his head down and get some work done.Unfortunately, his thoughts are all over the place.Then, he gets a call.Set during the pilot episode. A continuation of 'What's Eating Malcolm Bright?' from Malcolm's POV. Can also be read on its own.





	Back to Business and Other Bright Ideas

Malcolm felt like absolute shit. There were just no two ways about it. He'd had yet another night terror, that was shitty in and of itself. To add insult to injury, it had happened in public. And then, to top it all off, he'd had to he pulled out of it by none other than J.T., who Malcolm was pretty sure already despised him.

He felt raw, shaky. Humiliated. When Gil had come to talk to him after, he'd known immediately that something was off. Of course he had: Gil had always been able to read him like a book- like a children's novel, actually. Big letters and generous margins between which Gil seemed to effortlessly discern his innermost emotions.

So yeah, Malcolm had spilled. He'd told him about the night terrors, about how they were essentially ruining his life. He'd stopped short of telling Gil about the restraints he used at home: he really did not want to see the look in his eyes when he realized just how far off the deep end Malcolm had gone. 

Now, he was back to working on the case. Gil had told him to go home, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He just knew that he was better off here than he would be at his loft, alone with his thoughts. 

Malcolm's phone buzzed. An incoming call. He sighed deeply before taking a steadying breath and answering.

"Mother, hi."

"Malcolm, dear, you still haven't confirmed that you'll be joining us at my soiree tonight. Your sister is coming at eight, I trust you'll be there, too?"

His mother framed it like a question, but Malcolm knew it was largely rhetorical.  
He was very much expected to be in attendance.

"Yes, I'll be there."

"Excellent. You sound exhausted, darling. Would you just reconsider taking those sleeping meds I offered? One little pill and you're out like a light. Eight hours of dreamless sleep. Doesn't that sound like heaven?"

Malcolm had to admit (to himself, that is: he was definitely not going to say it oud loud) that it sounded tempting. But then, he was already on so many different medications. He just couldn't bring himself to become dependent on yet another pill. Aside from that, there was also the niggling fear that a sleeping pill wouldn't get rid of the night terrors at all: what if all it did was make him unable to wake up from his dreams? What if he'd be trapped in that prison, or in that basement? What if the pill would render him unable to surface from the dark waters of his mind?

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm going to have to decline."

His mother sighed irritably on the other end.

"Suit yourself, dear. I'll have Louisa go by your place and drop off some more of that chamomile tea. Now, run along, go back to whatever godforsaken murder case you're working on this time."

"Thanks, mother. I'll see you tonight."

Malcolm let his phone drop to the desk and began to massage his temples with both hands. He felt a headache coming on. No surprise there- they tended to follow on the heels of most of his night terrors. Maybe he really should go home, try to relax (but not sleep, definitely not sleep) for a few hours before he went to his mother's place.

Malcolm's gaze dropped to the file in front of him. The wide, desperate eyes of one of the copycat's victims stared up at him, accusingly, as if imploring him to do something.

No, Malcolm decided, he was needed right here. He grabbed his notebook and pen and went back to work.


End file.
